The Greatest Showman: March One-Shots

6. Pens & Pencils

Charity had placed a box on the kitchen table for P.T. before she left.

Not for good, no. Just for the night, she had said.  You need some time alone. I'll take the girls with me, so you can have the house to yourself.

She had accused him of taking his stress out on her and Caroline and Helen. In hindsight, P.T. knows she's right. Isn't she always? But he didn't want to believe it—believe her—at first. He should have known, though. This isn't the first time something like this has happened.

He's almost entirely certain that the reason the rest of his family left is because he found himself yelling at Caroline and Helen for every little thing. He feels guilty about it now—and he did then, after he realized what he had done. But it's too late now, he guesses.

His girls—all three of them—are absolutely everything to him, and their larger-than-life house is so quiet without them in it. He feels like a massive crater has formed in the center of his heart, and wishes for the next time he's able to see his three favorite people again. To apologize for what he had said, to assure them that they did nothing wrong.

Just for the night.

P.T. sits, slumped, in his chair, longingly staring over at that light brown box. Reflecting on his long and stressful day. Kind of wishing he had a time machine. At the very front of his mind is the impending Barnum & Carlyle Circus Tour, which should be exciting, thrilling, what he's looking forward to the most. But, instead, his stomach twists into knots, and his blood pressure peaks.

Because remembering the tour makes him remember Anne's injury.

And the fact that, now, Phillip and W.D. are out as well.

As a result, everybody else's attention is divided—including P.T.'s.

He doesn't want to admit it, though. He doesn't want to admit that he's exasperated and completely terrified, or that he needs help and support. Of course he doesn't.

Part of him thinks he should have known that this soar to fame and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was too good to be true. He had everything he had ever dreamed of—a family, a job that he loves, an estate suited for royalty, enough money to support his family...

Because then his best trapeze artist miscalculates by a mere centimeter, and falls fifty feet down to the dirt floor below.

P.T. can still hear her blood-curdling scream in the back of his mind. Can still see Phillip's eyes, wide with terror, as he realized who it was.

There's no way Anne is ever going to be able to do trapeze again.

He feels the tears arise in his eyes, and immediately squeezes them shut, reaching up to press the palms of his hands tightly against his ears. Get it out, get it out, get it out.

Sitting there, thinking about all of this, P.T. hadn't realized just how much it had been affecting him—especially mentally. He thinks back to what he had barked to Caroline earlier, about how she needed to hurry up and get her ballet things together because she was going to be late for class.

She doesn't even have ballet class today.

He buries his head in his hands, ashamed. He's created yet another chink in his family's coat of arms, and probably screwed up their relationship for quite some time—if not for the rest of time. Charity will forgive him, though, he thinks. She always does. She'll talk to the girls about it. Maybe even tell them why daddy's so short-tempered right now; they don't know about Anne yet.

He wants to go down to the bar and have a couple drinks to ease his mind, but it reminds him too much of the circus, of talking with Phillip for the first time. Somehow, he needs to get his mind off of the circus for the time being. He'll have to readdress the issues in the morning; maybe some of the oddities will have new ideas.

After news surfaced in the papers that Anne and W.D. would not be joining the Barnum & Carlyle Circus Tour, P.T. watched all of the once sold tickets reappear on resale sites. And his heart broke. It still breaks now.

Because he has a sickening feeling that he's never going to get his two best trapeze artists back. Or his junior partner.

No, Phineas, you need to stop thinking about it.

He pushes himself up out of his chair, and makes his way over to the box. Whatever is in here, P.T. knows that it's somehow going to do wonders. Charity always knows what to do, always know what to say. In retrospect, P.T. figures he should listen to her more. She's never steered him wrong before, how could she start now?

The truth of the matter is that he's just so used to being able to control things—especially when it comes to his career. But, when it comes to his career, Charity's usually right. He should know that by now.

P.T. takes out his knife and cuts open the box. Pulls back the cardboard flaps so he can peer inside.

Charity really does know best.

He reaches inside to pull out the box's contents, a small smile of disbelief forming on his lips.

It's a notebook, and a plethora of pens and pencils.